


Five Things about Radek Zelenka that only one person knows:

by jenna_thorn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-23
Updated: 2007-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn





	1. He licks his spoon after stirring coffee or tea

[ Lemniscate](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lemniscate)

Everyone knew that Radek stirred his coffee in a figure eight. Kavanaugh caught him doing it at Cheyenne Mountain, made a sneering fuss in the middle of the mess hall about romanticism as a sign of weakness and any weakness as being inappropriate on a critical team and how Radek should be teaching theory if he's going to fall on stupid superstitions. Radek very calmly explained that a circular motion simply created a vortex and the double swirl was more efficient at distributing sugar. "Or in this case," he added, wrinkling his nose at the plastic cup in his hands, "Aspartame-laden sweetener." Kavanaugh stomped off to shout at the line servers about the gravy slopped over onto his beans, and Radek looked up and smiled at Rodney.

"Perhaps he is simply trying to secure his place on the team by eliminating others."

"Yeah, like we'd choose him over you," Rodney grunted. "I tried to teach myself Czech to read your early work on theoretical wormhole dynamics and energy consumption in N-space. I hate depending on translations."

Radek seemed pleasantly surprised, but Rodney continued, "Of course, they were all completely wrong, but now that you aren't laboring under false assumptions, maybe you can produce something useful. That's my theory, anyway. The military side wants him with us. I suspect it's just because he's already got clearance and they don't want him here. He's an extra pair of hands, at any rate. I just wish we could put a muzzle on him."

They both glanced over to where Kavanaugh had abandoned his attempt to convince the importance of gravy not touching any vegetable but potatoes and was just waving his arms and shouting. The line cook seemed unimpressed. Rodney could have told him that shouting at the mess hall personnel was a bad idea. Instead, he gave thanks that now they'd have a new target.

"He seems quite passionate," Radek ventured.

"Be nice if he could devote that energy to eliminating redundant sub routines."

"Or perhaps making friends."

Rodney blinked, "We are scientists; we don't make friends."

"Ah," Radek said. He tapped his spoon twice against the rim of his cup, licked it, and set it in his saucer.

\---:::---

Six months later and a galaxy away, Rodney found Radek in the mess hall, carefully using the same infinite swirl in a futile attempt to dissolve not-honey into the powdered tea mix they'd resorted to after the coffee was gone. Radek stared at his mug with the absolute focus that indicated his mind was far away.

Rodney sat next to him, set his tea mug down, and waited. Slowly Radek fell back into himself and his hand slowed. He stared into the mug as though he could read a gate address in the clumps of powder, then shook his head and tapped the spoon twice against the rim of his mug.

Rodney snatched the spoon as Radek lifted it. Radek looked at him in some alarm. Rodney explained, "I don't like the stirry sticks."

Radek sipped his tea. "Then I am perfectly willing to share, my friend."

\---:::---


	2. He uses his personal space allotment on hoska

[ HTS Schedule](http://www.usitc.gov/tata/index.htm)

Elizabeth's grandfather told war stories, as so many veterans of war did, not of the battles and blood, but of the slack times, the spaces in between, the wet and cold and mud, the USO visits and the sudden beauty of sunrise over a French meadow. And the seeming never-ending poker game with the supply sergeants, who would communicate in supply code, as incomprehensible as the Turing machine or the wind talkers must have been. And now, she thinks, as she signs until her hand aches, she can bandy commodity codes with the best of any Customs agent on earth. Especially on office supplies and foodstuffs.

The _1212200000 Seaweeds and other algae _ regularly ordered by Okamura and Baker was clear after their first sushi night and every time she skims the supply listing with its incomprehensible numbers she smiles, remembering Sheppard taking away Rodney's fork with a roll still impaled, the shrimp tail flopping as they wrestled, Rodney trying to poke it into his mouth, John trying not to stab him.

Zelenka, R. always requests a very specific ball point pen though he gets only the standard cheap capped Bic they all use. He also requests some kind of candy, but she sees only the Customs listing, not the actual request forms and _ 170490 Other: 1704903000 Confections or sweetmeats ready for consumption 232 grams _ is not particularly specific. She can't remember seeing him with any particular sweetmeat. As opposed to sweetbread and, oh, that brings the memory of that Nigerian dinner sharply to mind. At least _ Coffee, roasted: 0901210000 Not decaffeinated _ is obvious at a glance. And is also personal stores, requested and budgeted by individuals, though not a luxury, despite what command would have one believe, as separate from _Instant coffee, not flavored Not decaffeinated: 2101112126 Packaged for retail sale _ which got expensive fast and so they went to _2101112129 Other _ namely the big damn bulk packages by the second supply run. But coffee is a necessity. Period. For both civilian and military sides.

Which closes out the personal requests, leaving the mess requests and as she verifies _2106 Food preparations not elsewhere specified or included: 2106100000 Protein concentrates and textured protein substances_ she shudders, wondering idly what Zelenka was getting and if he would share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are curious, yes, I work with the Harmonized Tariff Schedule (HTS) aka the Schedule B in my day job. How'd you guess?


	3. CZ75

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My idea for this predated my seeing Tabula Rasa, though I'm now supported in canon. Radek is my age, give-or-take, and those of us old enough to remember barbed wire across the Berlin Wall will recognize why he doesn't like soldiers and will not use a CZ75.

PFC Eric Everson called himself a people person and he was personable enough, hoisting one with the guys, laughing when he didn't get the joke, which meant he laughed a hell of a lot, especially since he got to Atlantis. But really, he was a gun nut. Lorne never really got into that, the constant repetition of the range. He did it well enough, but it was part of the job, while Everson -- Lorne thought maybe Everson just liked the smell of burned powder.

Everson loved the range, and he liked people, so when Adams rotated home, Lorne suggested Everson take over civvy hour. Lorne showed up half the time, himself, enough to see who the regulars were, check on who was improving, who was going through the motions, who had a scare recently and was therefore possessed of a sudden fierce devotion to armed self defense.

McKay had been a regular since day one. In fact, he had been the impetus of civilian hour, dragging Sheppard here while Lorne was still in Colorado, and he had gotten to be an adequate shot over three years. Lorne smiled in greeting as Zelenka entered. On the other hand, Zelenka flinched and blinked and cringed and yet he showed up, regular as a calendar, jaw grim, squinting over his glasses at the target. Radek nodded in response and made a beeline for the big ear covers, the heavy ones that no one else liked.

"Hey doc! I got you a present!" Everson shouted, suddenly too loud in the echoing room.

Lorne glanced up. Everson was holding, not the standard issue Beretta, but the rounder nose and shorter barrel of a CZ 75. Good thing it took the same ammo. He was fine with a certain level of personal discretion as to handguns, and everyone had a sentimental favorite, but be damned if he was going to stock odd ammo sizes.

"I got it special for you, doc."

Radek accepted the weapon, holding it properly, Lorne noted, not the dead rat carry that too many of the scientists had started with. "It is a gun," he said. Everson beamed. Zelenka rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Perhaps I do not understand."

Everson put one ham fist right over Radek's smaller hand and popped the magazine out. "Safety here, takes the standard nine mil ammo, nice slide, I'll show you how to clean it." He stepped back and beamed. "It's a CZ 75, the CZ stands for ..."

"Czechoslovakia, yes, I know. No, thank you." Radek turned and put the gun down on the narrow table behind them. He stepped to the side to pick up the beat up P-38 they trained most of the scientists on.

Everson picked up the weapon and slid the magazine back in. Radek set the P-38 back down, took a deep breath and started speaking, entirely in Czech.

Radek spoke with his hands. Must be a science genius thing, Lorne thought, but while McKay kept his hands tight to his body, describing a universe within his own arm's length, Radek gestured outward, fluttering near Everson's vest, an outswept arm clearly encompassing the target and the rack holding the P-90's in turn. Which made sense, after all, McKay _was_ the center of every discussion he led, while Zelenka played well with others. To keep that grin from showing, he resorted to straightening to parade rest, an old trick that pre-dated his own enlistment, picked up from his father and grandfather. Guns are serious business, he remembered his grandfather saying, makes the range as serious as the field. Respect your weapon, respect your target, no matter if it's a bottle or a boar. Or a Wraith, Lorne thought and wondered again what his grandfather would have made of the life he was living.

Zelenka had switched back to English, finally. "I would prefer to use the American gun, thank you."

Evenson started again, "But..." Radek rubbed his eyebrows. Lorne stepped in and said, "Evenson, did you get a chance to serve in the Storm?"

"First tour, sir."

"How do you feel about the Tariq?"

"Berretta wanna-be that would be more effective if the idiots firing them had any idea how to clean a firearm."

"How about the AK-47?"

"Russian make, reliable and low maintenance, able to withstand weather and rough treatment, carried by choice as it's more effective against U.S. troops, sir."

"Marine, I realize this is unusual, but I'm asking you how you _feel_ about it."

Evenson's eyes narrowed. "I hate it, sir. I saw it too many times from the wrong end." Evenson blinked with sudden comprehension and looked quickly at Zelenka. Zelenka stood calmly, but his hands were shaking.

Evenson opened his mouth a couple of times, then set the CZ carefully behind the others on the table. "Damn fine weapon, though."

Zelenka patted his arm. "I do thank you. For the thought. But no."

"Okay, doc. No prob. We'll find someone who wants it." Everson smiled, and Lorne nodded. It wasn't as though there was any shortage of need, and the CZ was a good little gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits: Beta by [](http://beadslut.livejournal.com/profile), technical advice from Himself, the resident keeper of the armory.


End file.
